"My lord," I said slowly, "I will consider it. But there must be more in it for me than mere profit, to circumvent the interests of my own nation."
"My son adores you," Marie-Celeste offered candidly, Serenissiman shrewdness in her half-Courcel face. "Phèdre, my dear, you may hold sway in your own nation, but in La Serenissima, courtesans do not marry into the Hundred Wor thy Families. For free trade with Alba... exceptions may be made."
I nearly had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, and made a show of swirling my wine to disguise it. I liked Severio well enough, but to wed him—Elua preserve me! Still, I appreci ated the Stregazzas' naked candour, their ambition and the offer plain on the table. And I had an idea. "My lady," I said, inclining my head to her. "There is somewhat that interests me. I seek an old acquaintance, Melisande Shahrizai by name. I heard it rumored you had knowledge of her."
"Oh, dear!" Marie-Celeste Stregazza turned pale. "I know that name. Father—Prince Benedicte—was looking for her too, not two months' past. Some sort of traitor to the nation, is she not?"
How our concerns encompass us! It seemed astonishing to me that all the world did not know of Melisande's treachery—and yet, small wonder. I have ever known that Meli sande played a deep game. She was convicted in an impromptu court in the garrison of Troyes-le-Mont, and those who witnessed it, I could count on my fingers. Of those who had proof... there was only me. I had seen the letter, in her writing, to Waldemar Selig of the Skaldi. No other trail existed.
Now, I would use that to my advantage, and pray the Stregazza knew no more of my history than Severio had related.
"So it is said, my lady," I replied cautiously; there is an art to phrasing matters just so, that listeners may hear what they will. "And, of course, it might be just the thing to retain my place in the Queen's good graces—" I cleared my throat delicately, "—whatsoever might happen with Alban trade. But she is an old acquaintance, and would see me, I think."
"No." Marco shook his head forcefully. "Benedicte gave us a description, and there is no one fitting it in our knowledge. Believe me, young Contessa; trade is one matter, and court politics quite another. If I had any knowledge of a D'Angeline traitor within these walls," he said grimly, "I'd not hesitate to buy my father-in-law's gratitude with it."
I opened my mouth to reply, but a ruckus at the entrance to their quarters cut me short. Even as I turned to look, a Serenissiman with the hooded Stregazza eyes, a neat dagger- point beard and a soft cap perched on his curly hair made his way onto the loggia.
"Marco," he said peremptorily. "Why am I hearing about a ten-percent tax being added to the Saddlers' Guild on fes tival days? We had an agreement!"
Marco Stregazza's lids flickered. "Ricciardo," he said briefly. "We have a guest."
"Charmed." Ricciardo Stregazza offered dismissively, giving me a perfunctory glance, which changed quickly to a startled double take. "Asherat! What pretty fish do you have on your line this time, Marco?"
"This," Marie-Celeste intervened, speaking in dignified D'Angeline, "is the Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Mon trève. Phèdre, my husband's brother, Ricciardo Stregazza."
"Contessa." Ricciardo took my hand and bowed. "You are far too beautiful to be party to my sister-in-law's petty intrigues with the Little Court," he said cynically, straightening. "Pray do me the honor during your stay of accepting an invitation to dine, that my wife and I might show you that not all Serenissiman hospitality comes with strings attached."
"The honor would be mine, my lord," I replied politely in Caerdicci.
"Your wife!" Marie-Celeste gave an inelegant laugh. "A jest to the end, Ricciardo."
His expression grew cold. "Whatever poison you spew, leave Allegra out of it, sister. Marco." He turned back to his brother. "The Scholae were promised there'd be no ad ditional taxes after the Treaty of Ephesium was signed. This is an end run around our agreement."
"If they don't want to pay the taxes," Marco said reason ably, "they needn't come to market on festival days."
"And lose a third of their trade?" Ricciardo tugged at his curling locks with one exasperated hand. "As well tell them to throw half their goods in the river! I gave them my word, Marco."
"Take it up with the Consiglio Maggiore," Marco said wearily. " 'Tis their legislation, and they passed it."
"At whose behest?" Ricciardo asked dangerously.
"Not mine." Marco shrugged, and spread his hands. "Ask, if you don't believe me, brother. You courted Sestieri Scho lae, not I. If they're like to lynch you for making promises you can't keep, I cannot help it. The problem is yours."
It is never a comfortable thing to find oneself in the midst of a family squabble, and all the less so when political in trigue is involved. Murmuring something innocuous, I withdrew to gaze out over the lagoon, while Ricciardo Stregazza struggled to get his temper in check.
"We'll speak of this later," he said shortly, and then, to me; "My lady Phèdre, you swim in dangerous waters when you dally with the Stregazza, but I pray you, remember my invitation kindly. My lady
wife
—" he cast a venomous glance at Marie-Celeste, "—would be pleased to speak with one such as yourself."
With that, he made his exit, and Marco Stregazza sighed, passing his hands over his face. "Forgive the intrusion, Contessa," he apologized. "My brother ... is rather intemperate. So it has been since our father declared him a disgrace to the family. He courts the Scholae out of desperation, and makes rash promises to these rough tradesmen, then needs must fear their anger when he cannot deliver." He shook his head ruefully. " 'Tis an ill match if ever there was one, but Ricciardo is determined to contest for our father's seat. I would do what I could to protect him, if I did not fear he'd repay me with treachery."
Marie-Celeste fanned herself and sipped her wine, making a face. "It's gone warm," she complained. "Marco, send them for a fresh-cooled jug." When he had left to summon a servant, she leaned in confidentially. "Ricciardo has the D'Angeline sickness, I'm afraid. It didn't sit well with his father when the scandal broke."
"The D'Angeline sickness?" I repeated, feeling foolishly ignorant.
"You know." She raised her brows. "He likes boys."
"Ah." One undercurrent of their bitter exchange suddenly came clear to me. I turned my empty wine-cup in my hands, looking across the busy lagoon. "You name this a sickness, in La Serenissima."
"Yes, well, I told you, they are all provincial here." Low ering her voice, she added, "I do not say this to Marco, for when all is said and done, he loves his brother, but if I were to seek out someone with ties to a D'Angeline traitor, I would start at Ricciardo's doorstep. His ... proclivities ... have led him to stranger places, and he has no love for the Little Court, whereas we still hope to make peace." Marie-Celeste patted my arm in a motherly fashion as Marco returned, exclaiming in a different tone. "Come inside and sit, my dear! I must know who made your gown. Are such plain lines the fashion this season?"
Still pondering her comments, I thought of Favrielle nó Eglantine and wondered what she would make of Marie-Celeste Stregazza's attire, which, from what I had seen, was the height of Serenissiman style—a long, sleeveless over dress gaudily adorned with appliques and cut-outs, bound beneath the breasts with gold net and worn over a fine silk tunic with tight-fitting sleeves. The whole ensemble, dreadful to my eyes, was topped with a gauze turban and finished at the bottom with a pair of wooden-soled sandals—pattens, they are called—a full four inches in height.
"Not exactly, my lady," I said diplomatically. "My seam stress is very particular."
"Well." Marie-Celeste de la Courcel Stregazza smiled, "You must tell me everything."
THIRTY-THREE
It was late afternoon when Severio returned to usher me out of the Doge's Palace, and the Square was awash in golden sunlight. I left Marie-Celeste with sufficient advice to ensure that her knowledge of current D'Angeline fashion was competitive with the Little Court—not that I saw her inclined to take it—and Marco with a final promise that I would consider his proposal.
The Immortali were waiting, and Ti-Philippe and Joscelin with them. I would have preferred a chance to speak pri vately with my retainers, but it was not to be, not yet.
"My lady Phèdre," Severio said gallantly, extending his arm. "Shall we promenade about the Square? It is a most pleasant afternoon for strolling."
"Of course." Hiding my impatience, I smiled at him and took his arm, ignoring Joscelin's look of silent disapproval. At least, I thought, his Cassiline arms had been restored to him; that should please him. Ti-Philippe, by contrast, was in good spirits, trading jests with the Immortali.
I daresay I might have enjoyed it, if not for the pall Jos-celin cast. Like a pair of young noble-born lovers, Severio and I strolled about the Square, observing the goods for sale and the colorful throng of buyers and sellers. The Square itself was inlaid with paving stones of white marble etched with guild-markings for the various Scholae, delineating the allotted market stalls for each guild.
It was strange and exotic to me, seeing such vigorous commerce take place cheek-by-jowl beside the Doge's Pal ace and the Temple of Asherat. In Terre d'Ange we are more reserved, separating our royal seats and sacred places from the common milieu. But it was true, what Marco Stre gazza had said; trade was the lifeblood of the Republic, and I supposed it was meet that its beating heart lay at the center of La Serenissima.
Hosiers, clothiers, glovers—a separate guild for each, and that was merely a beginning. There were stalls for shoemakers, coopers and carpenters, jewelers and soap-boilers, farmers and spice merchants, fishermen and butchers, bar bers, smiths and saddlers. Commonfolk in rough fustian and shawled women bartered alongside silk- and velvet-clad no bles. Here and there, we saw other strolling lovers, though I noted that the young women who appeared unwed covered their hair in modest silk head-scarves and were attended by stern-looking dowagers.
Well and so, I thought, I will have to be wary of how I am perceived.
It came to a crux faster than I guessed, when we paused before a merchant from Jebe-Barkal, who was displaying birds of astonishingly bright plumage in wicker cages. I had seen a few women carrying them, and guessed they were a popular novelty as a lover's token; for that, I would not have lingered, but that the Jebean merchant intrigued me. His skin was a brown so dark it made the whites of his eyes vivid, and his teeth when he grinned. This he did readily, when I tried, laughing, to converse with him—his Caerdicci was so broadly accented that I had trouble comprehending it, and mine is the formal scholar's tongue and not the soft Serenissiman argot he was used to. Still, we made ourselves understood, and I gathered that the birds had come from his homeland.
How vast is the world, I was thinking, and how little of it I have truly seen, when Severio's voice cut through my reverie, his hand closing urgently on my wrist.
"Phèdre." His tone was low, and I glanced up to meet his hot gaze. "Phèdre, I will buy you a parrot, I'll buy you a horse, an Umaiyyat camel caravan if that's what you want. A gilded bissone, a house on the Great Canal, a country villa! Name your price, and I will meet it; set your terms, and we will draft the contract. Only promise me I may see you again."
For once, I could have used my overprotective Cassiline's attention; Joscelin's glower has a quelling effect on patrons' ardor. As luck would have it, he was engaged with dissuad ing Ti-Philippe from poking his finger through the wicker bars of one of the cages. I was on my own.
"My lord," I said gently, "you flatter me. But I do not think it wise that I pursue Naamah's Service here. You your self said to me, when first we met, 'In La Serenissima, we keep our courtesans in their proper place, where they be long.' "
"I did, didn't I?" Dropping my wrist, Severio flushed a dull red. "Gracious Lady of the Sea, I was a prig," he muttered. "But you see, don't you, what it's like to live here, to be caught in the middle of this neverending intrigue? And how out of my depth I felt in the City of Elua. Phèdre." He looked earnestly at me now. "I have never known such pleasure with a woman, but I swear to you, it's not only that. My very nature is changed because of you, and I have made peace with a side of myself I did naught but revile. Pleasure I can find elsewhere, if I must; there are always women who will do anything for coin. Only you do it because it is your glory."
"In Terre d'Ange, it is," I whispered; I hadn't expected him to make such a compelling argument. "My lord, in La Serenissima, it would be my shame."
"Was it Naamah's shame when she bedded the King of Persis?" he asked cunningly. I had forgotten, too, that he was one-quarter D'Angeline and knew the tales of that legacy. "Was it her shame when she lay down in the stews of Bhodistan that Elua might survive?"
"No," I murmured. "But Severio, I am not Naamah, only her Servant. I need to think."
"No? Think on this, then." Taking me in his arms, he drew me against him; I could feel the heat of his body and his rigid phallus straining against his velvet hose, pressed against my belly. My knees grew weak. "If you will not have me for a patron," he said softly, his breath brushing my hair, "accept me for a suitor. There are ways to accomplish anything. With your guile, your beauty and your title, and my father's money and position, we could rule La Serenissima together one day, you and I."
I have never aspired to power beyond a role as the fore most courtesan in the City of Elua; I do not think, if Joscelin and I had not been estranged, that I would have considered Severio Stregazza's offer for an instant. On D'Angeline soil, I could have handled it with grace. But 'tis a dangerous thing to be courted in a strange city, and I was isolated and lonely on this wild-goose chase even my closest companions thought a folly. Yes, for a few scant seconds, I entertained the notion of conjoining my life to his.
And spending a lifetime playing supplicant to his Tiberian magistrate.
No, I thought; if Kushiel has marked me, surely it is for some greater purpose than this.
